What Was Left Behind
by TheAngelToMyHunter
Summary: A small Thranduil headcannon of mine that depicts the Elvenking at one of his weakest moments. Cameo by Legolas. Also, there is a bit of Elvish sprinkled in. I used a few different sources for the Elvish phrases, one of which being an unreliable Elvish translator. Adar-father, Quel kaima-sleep well, Tenna' ento lye omenta, mela en' coiamin-Until our next meeting, love of my life.


Thranduil sat in his bedroom, his arms wrapped around his legs, face buried in his knees. It was late, so late. The sky outside was dark and starless just as it had been so many years ago on that fateful night. He felt hot tears spill onto his cheeks as silent sobs rocked his body. He peered up from his knees, eyes rimmed red and stared at the mirror on the opposite wall. His hair was a mess, falling around him like a silver, knotted cloak. His clothes were rumpled and unkept for he had woken from yet another nightmare. The scar that slashed across the left side of his face was ugly in the dim light, red and gaping wide. He picked up a half-empty wine bottle from the bedside table and threw it, smashing both the mirror and bottle. The shards fell clattering to the ground, reflecting nothing but darkness now. The floor was stained red with wine, looking like blood in the shadows. Images of the great war raged through his mind as he stared into the black. The horror crept through his veins, making the blood within them run cold as the springs choked with winter flood waters. He shivered even though the room was warm and more tears dripped down his face and into his lap. Thranduil's hand crept up to his face, tracing the scar with slender fingers, feeling the ridges and caverns left by the fierce beast years and years in the past. He still felt the burn of dragon-fire upon his skin when he was alone in the dark, still felt the bite of steel and iron upon his limbs. He saw the bright flames lick up the bodies of fallen elves and men alike behind his eyelids. He never slept because of it. His heart ached with sorrow as he remembered the fallen and the lost lives of the war. His father... Another body-wrenching sob shook through him, his lips parting and an agonizing cry ripping from his throat. He buried his face back into his knees to silence the sudden outburst, hoping not to alarm any of the guards patrolling the hall. His arms tightened around his legs as he hugged himself, rocking softly and crying like a child who has just fallen and scraped his knee on a sharp rock. His thoughts drifted to the return journey, how more than half of his people were slain and the ones left were wounded terribly and were bone-tired. He remembered walking through the gates and seeing all the faces of his kin fall into sadness for the loss of their king and loved ones. He remembered asking for his wife, wondering why she was not the first to greet him. He remembered falling to his knees in agony. He remembered the pain. He remembered the tears. He remembered her golden hair falling gracefully down her back and over her shoulders, curling ever so slightly at the ends. He remembered her eyes, the color of the sea on a clear, calm day. He remembered her laugh, the sound of tinkling bells. He remembered her touch, her kiss, her everything. He remembered it all and realized that he would never see her again. She was gone. Gone forever. "Leave me!" he shouted at his guards as he knelt over her body on their bed, her face peaceful and just as fair as ever. She was dressed all in white, adorned in the gems he had given her on her birthdays and their wedding day. He kissed her cold lips, as soft as rose petals, yet they were the color of frost encrusted roses. He wept over her, his tears falling onto her still face, clasping her hands and wishing to the Valar to bring her back to him. His prays went unanswered. He shouted at the top of his lungs in rage and despair, throwing everything and anything in the room in a fit of anger, hot tears staining his cheeks and stinging the fresh scar upon his face. A sharp knock at his door brought him from the memories.

"Adar! Are you alright? I heard shouting. Open the door and let me in!" came a voice from the hall. It was Legolas. Thranduil looked over to the door, his eyes so full of tears he could hardly make out the shape of it. He reached over and grabbed his glass goblet from the bedside table and chugged the contents, the strong wine burning his throat.

"Leave me be!" he shouted in the direction of the door, discarding the glass and reaching for the emergency bottle of wine he kept underneath a pillow. He popped the cork from it and pressed his trembling lips to the thick glass lip of the bottle.

"I will not until you let me in!" shouted back the young elf. Thranduil glared at the door, his tears beginning to pool in his eyes as he threw his head back and downed more of the potent beverage. He rose from the bed and stumbled to the door. It was unlocked by his slender fingers and he pulled the door open. On the threshold stood a tall blond elf that looked remarkably like himself. His blue eyes were concerned and full of worry and his hair was a mess. "Adar..." he said sadly, seeing his father, whose eyes had become even redder than before and his face blotchy from the tears. He reeked of wine. The young elf reached forward and hugged his father tightly. Thranduil was taken by surprise as he felt the warm, strong arms of his son wrap around his body. "Do not worry, adar. I will never leave you," Legolas said gently. The Elvenking felt fresh tears spring to his eyes as his arms wound around the slender, tall build of his son, bringing his close to him. He buried his face into his shoulder and sobbed quietly.

"You mustn't leave. Promise me you will remain in these halls. I cannot bear to lose my only son. I...I cannot bear to lose you as well," he said in a hoarse voice, still keeping his face tucked in the crook of the young elf's neck.

"I promise, adar. I will stay by your side always." They stood in the hall for some time, Thranduil still sobbing gently and embracing his son. After a few moments, he straightened up and placed his hands on Legolas's shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently.

"Good. Now, go back to bed. I will be fine," he replied with a kingly air. Legolas hesitated a moment, wondering if he should go or not. "Legolas, do you not trust your own father?" The young elf nodded.

"Yes, adar. Quel kaima ," he replied before walking back down the hall to his own room. Thranduil shut his door and the room was dark and quiet once more. He walked over to his bed and picked up the wine again, the bottle on his lips once again. He drank and sat upon the soft mattress. Setting the bottle down aside the bed, he laid down and stared at the ceiling, the shadows swirling above him, forming pictures of things that once had been. He imagined his beautiful wife again and tears came unto him.

"Tenna' ento lye omenta, mela en' coiamin," he whispered softly as he rolled onto his side and hugged himself, warm tears caressing his face as he fell into sleep, dreaming of the days before the carnage of war, when things were at peace and when his heart was whole and he still dreamed of the future. He dreamed of the days when hope was high and life was worth living. "Ah, but those days are long gone..."


End file.
